BAD APPLE: The Complete Series (Parts 1-5)

by Kristina Weaver

  I need to ask him so much more, but the pain I can’t contain anymore has me doubling over and falling from the bed in my haste to get to the bathroom.

  What happens next is not something I ever wanted my husband to have to witness. I close the door behind me and then hear him pounding on it, demanding entrance.

  By the time the last, excruciating drop leaves me empty, I feel like hell and I’m pretty sure I’m dehydrated. I flush the toilet, empty a can of deodorizer, and hobble out, straight into Misha’s chest.

  “You are too ill for too long. This I do not like,” he barks, sweeping me up and into his strong arms.

  Chapter Seven

  Misha

  Women are the strangest creatures, I have come to learn, as I stare down at a sleeping Irina and thank God that she is finally well and rid of that damned plague that almost killed her.

  She was ill all day and half the night till I finally lost patience and had a doctor stop in. After I brought her home, of course. The man took one look at her and threatened to have her doctor stoned before starting her on fluids and checking her hydration levels again.

  By the time she slept peacefully, no longer tossing restlessly, I felt well enough to let the man leave, promising him I would bring her to his offices in a day or two if she was not improving.

  But she is. I woke her once to check for fever and felt heartened when she slapped me thoroughly and tried to kick me in the balls for daring to disturb her.

  I’ve spent a good portion of the night thinking as I watch over her. I’m planning my next moves to undermine her defences. Irina was weakened and vulnerable yesterday, but once she wakes I will have a fight on my hands.

  One I do not intend to lose now that I have her back.

  “Staring at a sleeping person is super creepy, Misha. Take a freaking photo and stop giving me the willies.”

  My lips quirk at the groggy demand and I look up to see sleepy golden eyes glaring back at me.

  “You look better this morning, my angel.”

  Her snort is unladylike and I love the heck out of it as she pushes herself up and swipes at her dark, silky hair, her eyes narrowed and annoyed.

  “I feel better, I guess, unless you count the embarrassment I feel for what happened in the car.”

  ***

  Irina

  That poor freaking car. I doubt even a valet could get that smell out of there. And that’s without considering the show I put on at my apartment.

  I puked all over the car’s upholstery and then breathed my rancid breath all over Misha and let him clean me up. Again.

  Talk about romantic.

  “Angel—”

  “Well enough, in fact, to finish yesterday’s discussion,” I cut in, bringing my eyes up to meet his.

  He’s looking all sexy with that messy hair, golden stubble, and bloodshot eyes. I’d like nothing more than to jump him. Hard. But I need words first. And I need them to be the right ones.

  “You told me about Mina, and let me just say, your taste sucks. No, let me finish,” I warn when he goes to speak. “I feel terrible about what she did to you, and I’d rip her head bald if I could, but that still doesn’t make me feel any better about what happened. Far as I can see, her actions should have had you booting her ass instead of trying to tongue-bathe her throat.”

  Dammit, that kiss still haunts me.

  He’s kissed me in a million ways. Soft. Hard. Teasingly. Affectionately. Not once, though, do I ever remember that level of emotion being shone to me.

  “Irina, it was a mistake, one I will make up.”

  “You can’t. That’s the problem we’re having and why I left in the first place, Misha. You want to fix, buy forgiveness, feed me empty platitudes, and pat me on the head instead of talking about the why’s and how’s. Those are what I want, what I need to move forward, and the sad part? I don’t think you’re capable of giving them to me.”

  No amount of hoping will get me what I need, and right now I need at least one person in my life to be what I need. I’m sinking fast without my family to comfort me, and I’m terrified of the upcoming meeting that’s been arranged with the caseworker who found my birth mother’s records.

  “Irina, the why’s and how’s are not important, angel. Please, just accept my apology and let me make this up to you.”

  “No. I want answers or you can shove your wedding ring up your ass, Misha.”

  Please, please just answer me, I beg silently, feeling my heart sink when his eyes go cold and show nothing but steely determination. This look I know. I saw it the morning I found out we were married and he started ordering me around, barking at me to pack my bags because his wife would live in his home. I saw it last night when, too weak to fight, he carried me out of my home and brought me here, ignoring my every protest.

  “I will not accept this, Irina. You are my wife. You belong with me. Forget that stupid error in judgment and focus on what we have.”

  “And what do we have?” I laugh, shaking my head in amusement. “We screw, we watch television, and I get to talk while you listen. That’s all.”

  Those eyes close before opening and fixing on me with anger, and I feel my lips tip again.

  He reminds me so much of Feliks right now that I’m finding it hard not to laugh as he starts his customary stalking, coming closer, prowling my way with seductive intent.

  By the time he’s leaning over me, I’ve lost my train of thought, my only need right now to feel his hands on me, touching me. And touch me he does. Those hands land on mine, trapping them beside my head, caging me beneath the strength of his body, and I shiver with a longing that settles into my very core.

  “We have passion. You feel this, Irina?” he purrs, pulling a gasp from me when his hips settle between my legs and he thrusts his arousal against me.

  I heat instantly, going hot and cold all over as my own arousal sparks and heat sears my sex. I’ve always reacted this way to him, a weapon I see he has no compunction about using against me.

  “I hunger for you like I hunger for no other woman. You make me hard just by walking into a room. I remember every touch, every taste I’ve had of your delectable body. And I want more, angel.” He groans, pressing his length so close, I feel the throb of his erection directly over my clit.

  The pressure is perfect, blissful as my hips tip closer, my own undulations bringing a moan to my lips.

  “Ah yes, my darling. Push that little jewel into me, Irina. Let me feel the moisture only I can bring forth. Fuck, ah, you remember what it feels like to have me there, angel? How completely my cock fills your body?” he grunts, leaning farther, his breath tickling my face.

  I want him with a yearning that is shocking, but when he leans in to kiss me I find myself rebelling against the action, my body going rigid as I turn away, denying him this one thing.

  When he tenses and lets out a harsh curse I want to weep for what I’ve lost.

  “Irina.”

  The battle begins.

  Chapter Eight

  Misha

  The minute her head turns, denying me her luscious mouth, I feel my ire rise to boiling point. She’s making a stand, even as her body melts beneath mine and the scent of her need permeates the air surrounding us.

  I want to rage and demand she submit, give me every part of her, but as I look down at her beautiful face, I feel my anger dissipate as sorrow and intent settle inside me.

  I hate knowing that I no longer have all of her, but damn me I feel grateful for what little she is willing to give me as her soft hands settle over my shoulders, her legs opening, cradling me closer.

  I’m harder than I have ever been in my life as I redirect my lips to her neck and breathe her in, growling my pleasure when her sweet candied scent hits my senses.

  I’ll take what she’s giving me and make her love me again. I’ll make her want my kiss as much as I need hers.

  With that firmly decided, I set out to seduce my wife, almost losing all control when the
sheet falls away to reveal her nakedness. Her breasts are still curvy and I bring my lips down, pausing at her pink nipple.

  The sight of the little nub, hard and furled with want, has my mouth watering and opening. We both groan as I suck it in swiftly, pulling hard, biting and licking without pause before running my tongue over her skin to the other and giving it the same treatment.

  She’s wild beneath me now, her pleasure spiked, ruling her senses as I give myself over to the hedonistic pleasures I’ve been denying us both. I have such plans for my wife, ones I would never have allowed to take root till she left me and brought forth the animal prowling beneath my skin.

  As I release her nipple with a pop and kiss my way down the taught skin of her abdomen, bemoaning the weight loss her illness has brought, I start plotting ways to make her see the real me.

  “Ohhh.”

  I smile at her moaning cries and grit my teeth, grasping at my control when I smell her and the pink petals of her sex comes into view, the glittering sheen of her desire tempting the beast.

  I want to devour every inch of her slit and imprint her taste so deep inside me that it will never leave me. I want it so indelibly soaked in me that I taste her every minute of every day, no matter where I am.

  I want my scent on her pearly skin so that she smells me always, craves me always.

  So I let go and give my control over to the dark desires I’ve hidden for so long.

  I’m out of my mind by the time my mouth reaches its destination, eating her so ravenously she has no choice but to submit to me.

  She tastes as sweet as I remember and I revel in her surrender as the thick slide of her need coats my tongue, feeding the need within. I eat and lick, sucking on her throbbing bud till she’s mewling and begging for relief, and then, only when she’s too abandoned to breathe without me, do I push over her and sheath every hard, aching inch of my cock in her wet, blistering depths.

  The tightness, the hot embrace, is like coming home. I shudder as my balls draw up, my seed so close to erupting that it takes my every breath to calm myself so that I can give my wife what she needs.

  Every pounding thrust and slow, blissful retreat is my vow to make things right. I lose myself in it, in the pleasure that is all that keeps my fear at bay.

  I make love to her with my entire body, my skin sliding over hers, our sweat mingling as she thrashes beneath me and takes it, demanding more. Deeper. Harder.

  I love every minute of her senseless pleas, the agonized, slack-jawed pleasure she can’t hide from me. I give her more, hammering so hard and deep that I can’t move an inch when she finally tenses and starts climaxing, her sheath so silky tight and greedy that I’m coming before I can stop it.

  “Do you feel it now, angel?” I manage to rasp as my seed erupts inside her depths, flooding her in wave after wave of heated release. “Do you feel what we have now, Irina?”

  I can hardly breathe with the pleasure and yet I need her to hear me, feel me, know that I possess her to the core.

  “No other can fill you as I do. No other can make you come so hard your body locks around him to keep him inside. Do you feel my cum filling you, angel? We belong together. Your body knows this. Your heart knows this. Let your mind know it, too, and stop fighting.”

  She’s been almost silent through it all, not even giving me the gift of her cries when she climaxed around me, but I take heart when her arms come around me and she pulls me closer.

  “Sex won’t make a marriage, Misha. We’re good together in bed and I’ve enjoyed being your friend, but in the end all we will ever be, unless you share instead of taking, is fuck buddies who happen to be married.”

  She’s right, but as I roll away and pull her into my side, I still cannot push myself to breach that wall I put up so long ago.

  Love is a weakness I cannot risk, no matter how easy it may be to love this kind, gentle soul I can no longer live without.

  Chapter Nine

  Irina

  The sound of the doorbell chiming before the store has even opened brings my head up and I almost sigh my relief for the interruption when I look down at the cupcake I’ve been icing and notice the uneven, messy lines dribbling down the sides and onto the paper.

  Pushing the little cake away with disgust, I swipe my hands over my brow and growl for the hundredth time as my thoughts swirl from one end of the spectrum to the other.

  It’s official. I have become one of those sad, pathetic women who are emotionally and physically dependant on a man I shouldn’t even like, never mind love.

  Stupid bastard.

  He’s spent the last eight days driving me crazy. I can’t even complain because the things he does are so sweet and attentive that I’d look like a fishwife if I so much as squeaked a protest.

  He finally got the message when I stormed into his office four days ago and hurled the third vase of roses at him, my eyes swollen and red rimmed from rubbing, my nose so stuffy that when I sneezed I saw a glob of mucus hit his pristine suit jacket.

  I let him have it then. I like cats and weird T-shirts and those funny cupcake pictures with cute captions like “I’m sweet, lick my cherry.”

  By the time I was done railing at him in a whiney, stuffy voice, my red eyes demonic in their itchiness, I had Vadim and Leo laughing hysterically.

  He got the message, though.

  I am frustrated and totally flummoxed at the moment, hence my inability to do something I could usually do with a lame arm and my eyes blindfolded. I can fight against an inattentive asshole who doesn’t have a clue, but I can’t do a damn thing about this Misha who is sweetness personified.

  I’ve also learned in the last few days that Misha is a freak in the bedroom. A dominant force of nature who does not bulk or heed any of my protests when it comes to what he wants from my body.

  He’s taken me to places I blush just recalling, and done things to my body that would mortify me if he wasn’t so vocal about loving every minute. Just last night he spent almost an hour shaving me everywhere before rubbing oil into every inch of my skin.

  It was the most intensely intimate event of my life, because the minute I relaxed and melted beneath him he introduced me to the necessity of lube.

  And boy did he take things to a level that I never would have expected from straitlaced, tight-assed Misha. Who knew that beneath that starchy exterior lived a man with such dark sexuality, it scares me to think what else he could possibly have left to do to me?

  He knows me intimately.

  But my mouth is still off limits. No matter how desperate he is to possess that last part of me, I don’t let him kiss me.

  It’s my last defence and one I am now clinging to by my fingertips. It’s all I have left, the only part of me that stops him from possessing me completely.

  “Hello?” I call out when minutes have passed without one of my crew sidling in. The shop is eerily silent.

  I locked the door myself after walking Vadi, Misha, and Leo out armed with breakfast muffins and coffee, so the only people who could have come in are one of the girls or Misha.

  No one answers and I roll my eyes, abandoning my fruitless mission to ice cakes when the lights flicker and go off, plunging the place into darkness.

  I have a real fear of the dark.

  “Tat? Nik? Liza? Guys, this isn’t funny!” I yell, crying out with a curse when I walk straight into the table and bang my knee. “Guys, come on, stop fooling around, please.”

  My heart is about to trip right out of my chest when I hear a muffled footstep coming closer to the door just as my phone starts blaring in my pocket.

  “What the hell are you guys doing putting the lights off? This isn’t funny, Tat,” I say into the receiver, feeling my way around the steel workbench.

  The bakery is pitch dark at this time of the morning, the kitchen worse since there aren’t any windows to allow the sunlight just starting to peek over the horizon into the space.

  “Uh, Ri, what the heck are you babbling
about?”

  “About you guys pranking me again, you asshole. Put the freaking lights back on and stop creeping around out there or I’m never gonna talk to you again. You guys know how I hate the dark, Tat.”

  “I just called to tell you that we’re gonna be late, Ri. We’re not in the shop yet,” she says unsteadily, the fear skittering down the phone line settling over me as the distinctive sound of the door handle creaking hits my ears.

  Someone’s out there, someone I don’t know, and it hits me that I just gave away my location and the fact that I am alone and defenceless.

  “Oh my God, oh my God, there’s someone out there, Tat,” I squeak, my throat closing up when a faint sliver of light signals the door opening and shutting quickly. “Correction, there’s someone in here,” I whisper, my fear garbling my voice as footsteps shuffle closer.

  Tat’s yelling at Nik even as I scuttle to the corner and flatten myself beside a rack, offering a silent thanks when I don’t hit anything in the process.

  I’m terrified as I stand in the corner, hidden barely by the racks as the sound of footsteps gets louder.

  Tat’s now silent, her voice drowned out as I press the lightened screen behind my back and pray that I am not found.

  My prayers go unanswered and I scream when a hand shoots out and grabs hold of my hair, pulling me out and into a chest. I struggle as my legs go weak and I lose my breath.

  But I am no fighter, at least I can’t hold so much as a thought of what my brothers taught me when a hand slams into my cheek so hard, I would have flown back if not for the hand still gripped in my hair.

  Pain radiates out and I feel my head swim as my knees give out and I dangle at the end of a fist I can’t see, only feel.

  “Help me!”

  That earns me another hard backhand to the same burning cheek and I cry out as I’m dragged up by the hair and close to a face, hot breath sawing over my cheeks.

  “Shut the fuck up.”